


Home Alone

by selfdestructbiscuit



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Smut, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfdestructbiscuit/pseuds/selfdestructbiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want to tie you up and pretend that you are resisting me.”<br/>John Watson took another calm sip of his tea. “I want you to dress up in only fishnets and parade around in heels.”<br/>“I want to bring you to the brink of orgasm as many times as possible in a day but never let you cum.”<br/>That got him. John shifted in his seat, attempting to adjust his quickly growing cock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic here, I hope you like it! Comments are appreciated.

“I want to tie you up and pretend that you are resisting me.”  
John Watson took another calm sip of his tea. “I want you to dress up in only fishnets and parade around in heels.”  
“I want to bring you to the brink of orgasm as many times as possible in a day but never let you cum.”  
That got him. John shifted in his seat, attempting to adjust his quickly growing cock.  
~~~  
The day had started normal, whatever normal is nowadays. Being the man of habit he is, John Watson had risen at exactly 6:30 am (a habit left over from his training and military days), and dressed quickly in a fluffy, tattered jumper, gone downstairs, and made his ritual tea. Days like these called for a strong cup of Earl Grey, there was no excitement to get his adrenaline pumping and actually wake him up.   
“Earl Grey. You’re expecting a boring day. How boring.”  
Ah, the cheery voice of his wonderful and thoughtful and non-sociopathic flatmate. The morning had almost seemed too calm without it. “Yes, Sherlock. Some people enjoy a day off once in a while; it’s relaxing. Good for the soul. And easy on the blood pressure.”  
“Dull. Only idiots can enjoy any moment with their minds stagnate.”   
With a dollop of cream, his tea was complete, and he turned toward their couch with a soft sigh. A bored Sherlock was never a fun Sherlock. What’s something that will keep his mind occupied for a little while so I can finish my cuppa in peace?  
Aha.   
“Sherlock, did you ever play the ‘Make a Bloke Laugh’ game?”   
A stretch of silence was the only reply.   
“Right, so here’s how it works; you try to say or do something to make the other person laugh, and if you laugh you lose.”   
“I doubt anything but your stupidity can humour me.”  
Silence.  
“I propose a twist.” The consulting detective shifted from his previously recumbent position to face his flatmate. Touching just the tips of his fingers together under his chin, Sherlock adopted what John had come to call the “thinking pose.”   
“We both know that we are bisexual, why not see if one can say something so filthy that it makes the other erect.”  
Sherlock stated this so calmly, so matter of fact, that John choked on his drink. Sherlock had forgotten to mention two important things, one, that flatmates didn’t exactly do this type of thing, and, second, that John wasn’t technically “out” and that he hadn’t even told Harriet this new assessment of his sexuality.   
“Oh. Um-“   
“Honestly, John, it’s like you forget I’m a genius. I knew of your attraction to me even before I could asses my own to you.”  
This day was becoming a bit more difficult than John had anticipated.   
~~~  
Of course, the innocent act of making himself more comfortable was the one thing that jeopardized their precarious placement on the edge of “flatmates” and “something more.”  
“I do believe that I have won this round.” Sherlock said quietly.  
It was broad day now. Sun was filtering through the two windows in their living room. On the couch, Sherlock lazed gracefully, one long, slender leg stretched out to the edge of futon and the other hanging over the back edge. His hands were in the thinking position again, eyes cast straight up to the ceiling. He was the very picture of relaxed, but from the tension in his shoulders John could tell that this wasn’t only affecting him. Having opted for the ‘safer’ seat, John had chosen to sit on the coffee table. Still close to Sherlock, still a place for his tea to sit when he wasn’t holding it, but still in a position casual enough to be able to pretend like nothing happened, later. John stared hard at the side of Sherlock’s face. It was probably his not-so-subtle movement in Sherlock’s peripheral vision that alerted him to John’s aroused state, but it was still amazing how sure he sounded without even having to take a look at his opponent.   
These thoughts were still running through John’s head when the detective’s steel grey eyes flicked over to meet his.   
A sudden, undeniable warmth flickered to life in the old soldier’s stomach. Overtaken with a bold urge he said, “I want you to tie me up and fuck me so I feel it for weeks.”  
Sherlock’s serene eyes darkened. Gliding elegantly to his feet, the tall man outstretched his hand for John to take. At his seated position, John was face to face with the bulge in Sherlock’s trousers. His mouth dried at the sight, and ignoring the hand outstretched for him, he unbuttoned Sherlock’s designer trousers and slid his hand in.  
The heady warmth enveloped his hand as his fingers brushed against soft pubic hair. Closing his fist around Sherlock’s half hard-on, John drew it slowly up and out of the constricting material of the detective’s pants. The partially erect flesh freed itself with the barest hints of a bounce as even more blood rushed to it. A small breathy ‘John’ brought the man out of his trance, and he looked up to a debauched-looking Sherlock. His usually stark, pale face has spots of a becoming pink high up on his cheekbones, his eyes had taken on a greener colour, and the pupils widened and blazed at the sight of John so attentive on his cock. With his gaze still locked on the man standing above him, John brushed the tip of Sherlock’s cock with the flat of his tongue. The taller man’s eyes almost rolled to the back of his head. Swallowing down a giggle, John broke the stare and lathed his tongue up and down the pretty pink shaft of his lover’s erect penis.   
“No, John. S-stop.”  
“What? Don’t you like it?”  
“I am going to cum all over your face if you do not stop licking my cock right now.”  
With a gasp, John lurched forward and pressed his face into Sherlock’s stomach. The utter filth of those words coming from a usually so scientific and aloof man sent all the blood rushing to his now completely hard dick. It was actually becoming painful in the confines of his trousers.  
“Upstairs now. And you’re going to do what you said you would.”  
~~~  
“Please let me cum, Sherlock. Please.” A broken sob was ripped from John’s prostrate form.  
They had decided to use John’s room, Sherlock’s had too many questionable bottles that looked similar to the lube, and Mrs. Hudson would surely be able to hear them from there. Especially the screams that John let out as Sherlock pounded against his over-sensitive prostate again and again.   
Sherlock had made good on his promise. As soon as they had made it to John’s room, he had magicked a rope from seemingly nowhere and bound John’s wrists to the headboard, much to the excitement of the smaller man’s hugely erect penis. After whining for a while, Sherlock had finally deigned to free his partner’s cock. It sprang from captivity along with a drop of precum that landed on Sherlock’s hand. He greedily licked it up, and then went to the tip of John’s dick for more.   
A couple of hours more, with no chance of cuming, John was in agony. The first time Sherlock had stopped before his orgasm had broken over him, it had seemed like a fun challenge. But now, covered, in the cum from Sherlock’s four previous orgasms, and filled from the times Sherlock had cum inside him, so much cum that was not his own, it had become pure torture.   
“Sherlock. Please. Please.”  
Without saying anything, his captor knelt over his recumbent form on the bed and kissed him softly on the mouth. With a whimper as Sherlock’s again hard cock brushed against his chafed, aching one, John gladly accepted the kiss.   
“I am going to fuck you one more time, and this time I will let you release.”  
A sob of relief shook John’s body. “Yes. Thank you. Sherlock.”  
Their mouths slotted back together as Sherlock slid in one last time, sans lube because they were both slicked from the product of Sherlock’s many orgasms. A gentle brush against his prostate tore a cry from John’s lips and his body jerked in pleasure. His orgasm building more rapidly than ever, he felt it break over him with the fourth slow slide of Sherlock’s cock inside of him.   
John screamed. Profanities swirled into nonsense as his back arched, wrists aching from straining against his bonds, and his cock jerking with the force of his release. Long white ropes of cum arched upward from his slit, hitting Sherlock in the chest and chin. A long groan ripped its way from deep within him as the last throes of his release overtook him. Waves of pleasure still crashed over him as Sherlock came a fifth a final time, completely sans semen. He had be dried out from their activities of the past hours. Sherlock slid his sensitive, flaccid cock from John’s body and collapsed onto the soiled bed. His elegant, violinist fingers trailed along the pools of semen on John’s chest, drawing patterns. Before long, they were both asleep.


End file.
